


Dwarven deceit

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Orzammar, Pre-Taliesen, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 06:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2537168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron Mahariel was not pleased when he discovered Vartag Gavorn lied to him about those papers. And Zevran's used to hearing him rant.<br/>A short, spur of the moment gen fanfic with M!Mahariel and Zevran in an established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dwarven deceit

**Author's Note:**

> Fic is set at the beginning of the Orzammar questline if you side with Prince Bhelen, when Vartag admits he forged the papers about Harrowmont promising his land to two different nobles. This was essentially my reaction to that conversation, and what I imagined that my character would do later on (rant to his ever-patient boyfriend, of course).  
> This is also my first Dragon Age fic, so I can only hope that Zevran's fully in character. I guess that means I'm open to critique?

“I cannot believe that that little rat lied to me about the papers!” Theron Mahariel fumed, stalking about the small rented bedroom at the back of Tapster’s Tavern, away from the noise and bustle of drunken dwarves (and Alistair). Zevran made a noise of vague agreement as he shifted on the slightly too small bed - Maker knew how Sten was coping in the other room.

Theron’s reaction when Orzammar's shaper of memories had told him the documents which supposedly showed Lord Harrowmont’s treachery were forged was legendary. His face had gone blank, the only sign of his tightly controlled anger in the way he growled through gritted teeth at the elderly dwarf that he needed to go have words with someone. Zevran was concerned that he’d found the display from the other elf mildly arousing.

Vartag Gavorn had not even bothered to lie about forging the papers and bribing the needed people in order to make them appear genuine. They had certainly fooled the small ragtag party and the Dalish elf who lead them, but had not been good enough to fool the Shaperate.

“They were naturally forged, he said. By his own stubby little _durgen’len_ hand.” The darker elf snarled as he paced the room like a caged wolf, running a hand down his tied back braids in a way Zevran knew meant that he was frustrated. The Antivan was glad that it was late enough that they had both taken off their weapons and armour for the night - a rarity they could now afford being deep within the dwarven settlement, as he wasn’t sure if he alone would have been able to stop the Dalish elf from running off to settle the matter with Vartag another, more brutal way. Alistair had had to carefully push the Mahariel back out the heavy doors of the Assembly Hall, far away from Vartag after the unashamed admission had left the elf about to reach for his bow.

“It’s a show of loyalty, but if supporting Prince Bhelen means supporting trickery and forgery to help him get that damn Assembly to stop bickering and honor the treaty to fight with the Grey Wardens, I think I might go back to Harrowmont and take up his offer of the Proving.” Theron continued, while Zevran politely pretended to listen to his rant and in reality stared at the other elf’s bare skin that was normally covered by armour, admiring the way his lithe muscles stretched and bunched with every stride and the soft light hit his skin.

He was startled out of his complacency when Theron flopped down onto the bed next to him with another frustrated sound, burying his head in the pillows.

“Politics is a tricky business.” Zevran pointed out, reaching over to gently rub Theron’s exposed back.

“And that’s why I don’t get involved in it if I can help it.” The other elf whined, muffled by the pillow.

“You would make a very poor Crow indeed, if that is your attitude. You do not seem to be the sort to take sides, I have noticed.” Zevran chuckled, and the Mahariel’s head shifted in a nod of agreement. “You are… Naturally indecisive.” The former Crow added, encouraged when there was no voice telling him to stop as he slowly began to work his hands lower in a half-hearted massage.

“I just want this mess in Orzammar over with so I can go on to Lake Calenhad or Haven and the next inevitable fight.” Theron sighed, very slowly relaxing under Zevran’s highly experienced hands. “I want to be on the road again with the sky above me and the trees around me, rather than dark stone everywhere I turn. What kind of a place would use running lava as a decorative feature?”

Zevran smirked. “A very resourceful one, no? The dwarves are indeed strange. Not as strange as say… Sten or Morrigan, of course. That is their way, to live their lives inside a mountain and squabble over Paragons and Provings and who is the best candidate for the crown.” He suggested, moving to sit up, cross legged, next to the dark-skinned elf he adored so he could reach all of his back.

“Hm.” Theron huffed. “I’m not looking forwards to the Deep Roads.” He sighed, lifting his head up from the pillow at last, folding his arms under his chin.

The Antivan tilted his head curiously, his blond braid falling across his face as he thought about it.

“You are a Grey Warden, yes? It is what you are meant to do. And it is not as if you will be going alone, or simply with Alistair. You will have Sten to have lively, riveting conversation with.” Zevran teased with a charming grin, moving his hands back up to properly massage the ranger’s shoulders, always so tense after a day of stressful politics and continuously drawing a bowstring.

“And you.” The other elf replied, trying to hide the slight twinge of worry he felt at the idea of venturing to such a dangerous-sounding place without Zevran. Even though he had once tried to stick a knife or two in his back when they first met, the two had gotten on rather well after that, in part due to the fact Zevran had such an easygoing confidence to him. Theron didn’t really want to admit another reason why; Zevran was considerably more attractive than the rest of his party members, and supposedly had a lot of… Experience in things other than killing.

“Yes, and me, _lath_.” The Antivan nodded soothingly, reaching a hand up to deftly twirl a black braid of the Mahariel’s hair around his thin, callused fingers.

Theron turned his head slightly to look up at Zevran, flashing a brief smile of thanks. The former Crow sighed, and then settled back down on the bed next to the other elf.

“We may as well sleep now, or at least try to in this uncomfortable bed.” Zevran commented, reaching down to tug the blankets up over them. “You know, I actually miss my bedroll at camp.” He added, barely having to fake a wistful look. It worked, and he smiled to himself when he heard Theron chuckle. Such a rare occurrence.

“I’m sure that Dudain’s keeping it warm for us.” The Dalish elf replied, rolling over onto his back with a sigh and moving closer to Zevran in the process. He closed his eyes with a tired sigh, and the other elf took the opportunity to stare at his tattoos - no, they were _vallaslin_ to the Dalish, Zevran corrected himself. Theron had already corrected him enough over the time they’d known each other.

“And I am sure that whatever choice you make to kick these dwarves into honouring that treaty, it will be the right one. You are a Grey Warden, and they need to recognise that the Wardens have authority even in the bowels of the earth over a community of shut-ins.” Zevran murmured quietly, draping an arm over Theron’s sleek midsection and leaning up to gently kiss him goodnight. “And when it is done and Prince Bhelen is no longer a prince and is happy playing ruler, perhaps I can tie Alistair up so you can use Vartag for target practice uninterrupted, yes?”

Zevran slowly fell asleep with a smile on his face and the sound of Theron’s hushed laughter in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Dudain = what I called the dog in my runthrough. Better than just Dog or Hound, anyway.  
> Elvish translations, just in case some people can't/won't go to the wiki like I did:  
> durgen’len = dwarven  
> lath = love  
> vallaslin = bloodwriting, the Dalish tattoos  
> I might turn this into a series of some sort, if I get the inspiration again through my playthrough.


End file.
